Demon Lord by T C Southwell Page A

ran
out, and she collapsed. Benton called to a friend, and between them
they lifted her, their faces grim. She knew almost nothing for the
rest of the day, a vague blur of grass passing beneath her and the
tramp of marching feet.
    The men stopped and lowered her
to the ground, moving away as the cold presence of the Demon Lord
approached and halted beside her. She opened her eyes a slit to
look up at him. A satisfied smirk twisted his lips.
    "Well, well. How do you feel
now, witch? A little dry, maybe?" He chuckled, gloating, then
crouched beside her, looking more angry than triumphant. "How
easily you die, witch. So soon. Too soon. I had hoped to enjoy
tormenting you a little longer." He raised his head, his nostrils
flaring, and she sensed a deep rage building in him. "My father
would be pleased..." He looked down at her, scowling. "Yet I am
not. No, I think not. For you, death would be a sweet release, and
that you will not have yet."
    Bane gripped the front of her
tattered robe and jerked her upright. The world spun and a roaring
filled her ears, then a cold sensation engulfed her and everything
went black.
    Mirra woke on the floor of
Bane's tent. Wetness chilled her face as water splashed onto her
cheek. She opened her eyes to find Bane seated on the bed,
dribbling a cup of water onto her. She licked her lips, and he
smirked.
    "Thirsty, witch?"
    She gazed up at him with deep
sadness tinged with despair.
    This seemed to irk him, for he
frowned, and his smirk vanished. "Are you not going to beg for
water, girl? Do you not want some?"
    She nodded.
    "But you are not going to beg,
are you?"
    She shook her head.
    The Demon Lord stared at her,
his expression unreadable, his eyes like chips of blue ice. "Very
well. Sit up and take it. I have decided to let you live a little
longer. This is too easy for you. I want your death to be painful,
witch."
    Mirra longed for the strength to
refuse, and take the easy way out. Yet she did not want to die, and
the proffered cup was so close, so tempting. Still, she was not
sure she had the strength to take it. Bane leant closer.
    "So, you would like to refuse
and die now, would you not? Afraid of what the future holds?" He
dragged her upright, and the tent spun. Darkness nibbled at her
mind, then he shook her, and the world steadied. "You will drink,
or I will pour it down your throat. No one defies me,
understand?"
    The tin cup rattled against her
teeth, and water sloshed into her mouth. After the first mouthful,
she sucked at the liquid, raising trembling hands to grasp the cup.
Never had she tasted anything so wonderful, wet and soothing. When
the cup was empty, she looked up at the man who held it. His mouth
twisted in a contemptuous sneer.
    "I knew you would not have the
strength to resist. You humans are so weak. Do not think you would
have escaped me, though. I hold your life in my hands, witch. I
decide your fate, not you. When I have drained every last ounce of
pleasure from your torment, I shall devise a particularly horrible
death for you."
    Mirra bowed her head as he
filled the cup again. This time she took it, forcing herself to
drink it slowly, for too much would make her sick. Bane dropped the
water skin beside her, as well as a loaf of stale bread.
    "Eat, drink and be merry, witch,
for tomorrow we march again."
    Bane stretched out on the bed
with a sigh, leaving her to sip water and nibble the dry bread. She
dozed, then woke thirsty again and drank more water. Misery and
sadness made her weep in the darkness until she drifted off to
sleep once more.
    The next morning, she learnt
more of the Demon Lord's cruelties. On his orders, Mord presented
her with a feast for breakfast. Grilled fowl and roast boar filled
her plate, drenched with gravy. She stared at it, then looked away,
although her stomach rumbled with hunger. Bane smiled as he spooned
his Underworld food, which, she surmised, was probably made from
the decomposing remains of human sacrifices made below. Her